


i'm a thousand miles away (but tonight you look so pretty)

by bloominghwa



Series: home is where the heart belongs [2]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Cake, M/M, and yeosang misses seonghwa, basically i miss yeosang, but I REALLY like this, fashion designer seonghwa, hwanwoong is LOUD, i like cake, i love yeosang, i wrote this when i had writers block, is it obvious ive never been to new york, kindergarten teacher yeosang, new york city i want to go to new york, ravn is whipped and won’t admit it, ravn is whipped for hwanwoong but won’t admit it, seonghwa is so whipped for yeosang, seonghwa misses yeosang, this was for christmas but oops, wooyoung and san like making out, yay no beta, yeosang is a shy baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:00:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22239019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloominghwa/pseuds/bloominghwa
Summary: Seonghwa is on a business trip and misses Yeosang dearly
Relationships: Choi San & Jung Wooyoung, Choi San & Kang Yeosang, Choi San/Jung Wooyoung, Kang Yeosang & Park Seonghwa, Kang Yeosang/Park Seonghwa, Kim Youngjo | Ravn & Park Seonghwa, Kim Youngjo | Ravn & Yeo Hwanwoong, Kim Youngjo | Ravn/Yeo Hwanwoong
Series: home is where the heart belongs [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1522739
Comments: 6
Kudos: 109





	i'm a thousand miles away (but tonight you look so pretty)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seokga](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seokga/gifts).



> this isn’t that good but i wanted to give this to @shyboywoo because i just wanted to remind you that even if we’re far apart i want to thank you for cherishing me and i wish that i could cherish you more adequately anyways i appreciate you

“Hey.”

“Hey baby.”

“I miss you.”

“Me too,” Seonghwa chuckles, his breathe huffing in a puff a white smoke above the city skyline of New York. 

The lights flicker as many pedestrians and bikers still roam the streets, the shapes of taxis and cars zipping in and out of street lights mixing into the painting-esque feel of the night time city. Below him, crowds cluster along the streets, moving quickly back home wrapped in layers of scarves and coats, and a fog mists over the top of their heads as they push on into the night. It didn’t smell pleasant, mind you, the odor of smoke and alleyways rushing up to touch at Seonghwa’s pink-tipped nose.

“Don’t laugh at me, asshole.” Accompanied by the loud beeping of the traffic below, Seonghwa could hear Yeosang’s pout over the line. A small smile forms when he hears the familiar jingle of door opening. 

“Ah, you have work today huh?” Leaning against his balcony, Seonghwa takes in another breath of polluted air, watching Times Square light up with television ads. On the biggest screen, a model leans against a chair while wind moves through her hair. Gorgeous chandeliers and gold-trimmed walls are overshadowed as a spotlight beams down upon the model, the camera panning out as glitter began to fall. It could be much like a modern Renaissance painting if it weren’t for the quick glimpse of a barely noticeable smirk on the side of her mouth.

“Yeah,” sighs Yeosang over the line. “And I had to eat breakfast with Woosan today.”

“Oh my poor baby, did they end up making out in front of you?”

Yeosang’s whine indicates everything he knew, and he couldn’t help but laugh again. He could only imagine how far it must’ve gotten before Yeosang firmly put a stop to it. They talk a bit more about the recent happenings, Yeosang bringing up little anecdotes on his students and their friends while Seonghwa talks about the city and the scenery, promising to bring Yeosang on his trip next time. After a moment of hearing each other’s breath over the line, Yeosang speaks up again.

“When are you coming home?” 

“Soon, babe. I can’t wait to kiss your pretty face and see your adorable blush when I—”

“Shush!” Yeosang hisses violently, a tinge of embarrassment lacing his voice. “There’s children.”

A chorus of greetings from high-pitched voices travel across the line. Seonghwa’s smile widens as he hears Yeosang speak to them with a baby voice, cooing a “Sungjae, you got so handsome over the weekend” and a “Yoora, I love the bow in your hair”. He could imagine the children clambering all over his husband as Yeosang’s face scrunches up in effort, complaining about the weight on him with an overwhelming amount of affection in his voice.

“Hi, Mr. Kang’s husband!” A child shouts. An echo of his greeting choruses back as the rest of the kindergarteners yell out their own greetings. There’s sputtering in the background as Seonghwa greets the children back, laughing.

“Jinwoo! You put your hand on my face!”

“Sorry Mr. Kang~”

Giggling, the kids retreat into the background as Yeosang is brought back onto the line. 

“I hate children.”

“Well, they love you,” replies Seonghwa, envisioning the stupid smile on Yeosang’s face as he watches the children play. “And I think you’re stuck with them for a while.”

“Yeah,” breaths Yeosang, his joy in every syllable. “I guess I fucking am.”

“There’s children!” Seonghwa mimics jokingly, watching as a balloon flies up from the crowds into the darkened sky.

Laughing, Yeosang starts a sentence, cut off by a slam of a door and a loud enthusiastic yell; Wooyoung, if Seonghwa was none the wiser, announcing the start of class. Bidding a quick goodbye, Yeosang whispers “I love you” before calling his students to gather as he hangs up. Seonghwa’s smile drops as he listens to the dial tone, still holding the phone up to his ear. It’s cold, the cityscape glimmering with frost and bits of white as snow begins to fall. Drops of white crystals land on Seonghwa’s pink puffer jacket.

The jacket itself is an atrocity, really. A color no one would ever think of buying except as a joke, which is exactly what Yeosang did on his birthday. He presented the gift proudly to Seonghwa, wrapped in pristine pink wrapping paper, probably with the help of Jongho or Hongjoong. The wrapping was of course customized with his trademark cartoon drawing, the small flower monster smiling encouragingly up at Seonghwa. As a fashion designer, it was a miracle he didn’t gag or drop the jacket like it was hot coal, but instead he pinches it gingerly and picks it up, shooting Yeosang an incredulous glare while doing so.

“Thought you’d look nice in it,” smiled Yeosang innocently as he rested his head on his hands. Seonghwa had scoffed but made do with it because it  _ was _ Yeosang’s gift after all, and he could never really deny his husband anything. As his luck would have it, he ended up causing a giant fashion uproar in pink puffer jackets for a few months, so it wasn’t as bad as he had thought.

The familiar smooth notes of his ringtone breaks away his fixation on the slowly falling snow, forcing him to pry his frozen fingers from the metal railing of his balcony, peeling off his gloves and tapping impatiently at his phone screen. Wet trails are left when his fingers move to unlock his phone, smearing snowflakes on the light of his screen as he fumbles to answer the call. After swiping more times than necessary, he picks up with call with exasperation hanging from his breath. 

“Hello?” He instinctively begins to wander back into the warm glow of his hotel room, the flurrying snow chasing after him as he shuts the sliding glass door.

“Is this Mr. Park?” A nasally voice drones into his ear, clearly uninterested in whether he was Mr. Park or not.

“Yes,” Seonghwa answers shortly, his voice as chilled as the tempered glass door he just closed. “Who is this?”

“One of the models quit tonight, and we don’t have any replacements.” The voice didn’t seem to care at all that a model was missing. Seonghwa sniffs as his face began to hurt from the warm hotel room.

“What do you mean we have no replacements?” Seonghwa strips off his coat and drops it on a chair before he plops down on the couch. 

“I mean that absolutely no one else can be a replacement. All the top models are booked or out of town.” Seonghwa swallows back a sigh as he rubs at his temples.

“Ok, I’ll figure something out.” With that, he hangs up the phone and tosses it to the side. 

Seonghwa throws his head back in frustration as a headache begins to force its way into his skull. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighs, releasing the remaining cold. He gets up and strips off his puffer coat and soaked jeans, patting off the melting snow onto the flattened hotel carpet. Cringing at the wet spots on the floor, he drapes the clothing over a chair and pulls on the matching pajamas that he had bought with Yeosang some time ago on a trip. The cool silk sliding against his skin made him shiver, but he pops all the buttons in before dropping his body into the fluffy hotel covers.

He’ll deal with this tomorrow.

————————————

A loud honk and the sound of commotion in the streets greets Seonghwa along with his alarm. He groans as he slaps his sheets for his phone, which fortunately did not crack from him throwing it randomly last night. He blinks, trying to adjust to the light of his screen.  _ 10 A.M.  _ Turning off his phone, he groans as he has to get up to organize his stage for the runway.

And now he has the model to deal with, which once again incurs a headache. Dragging himself upwards, he stands and smooths his pajamas, crumpled from sleep the night before. He trudges to the bathroom and runs his fingers through his hair in an attempt to smooth it down. The tired bags under his eyes did nothing to help improve his look, but he went along with washing up and shaving. As he looks at his reflection staring back at him, he berates himself for his idiocy, slapping himself out of frustration. He should’ve known, called in more backups, prepared better; Hell, he could’ve even took Yeosang with him and asked him to model. 

_ Wait _ . Seonghwa stills, suddenly perking up and leaning his hands against the side of the sink, staring deep into his bloodshot eyes.  _ He could ask Yeosang to model.  _

His husband is the prettiest person he knows, and he knows Yeosang’s face would fit the concept, just a few tweaks to the outfit and then problem solved. He knows Yeosang is shy, hence why he never had the younger to be the face of his brand, otherwise, he would’ve have Yeosang’s face on every single large billboard worldwide screaming “HERE IS MY BEAUTIFUL HUSBAND AND ONLY I CAN KISS HIS FACE”. Yeosang prefers the quiet, regular life of a kindergarten teacher and not at all the fame that might come with him on a cover page. Seonghwa could ruin that if he is to call now, but desperation drew him rush out of the bathroom and dial Yeosang’s number.

“Hwa?” Yeosang picks after the first ring. His voice sounds rough, but is surprisingly clear and alert. “What’s wrong? Don’t you have to prepare for the show tomorrow night?”

“Flower,” he breathes, “Look, one of the models just quit on me and I can’t find a replacement so I was wondering…”

He trails off. “Why are you awake? It’s midnight there, right?”

“I got coffee.”

“You got what?! Why would you get coffee at this hour?”

“To stay awake for you.” Yeosang hums happily, clinking of a cup can be heard over the line.

“B-but why? Don’t you have to teach tomorrow too?”

“Yeah, but I wanted to talk with you if you happened to have time. And what is this urgent matter about the model? What happened?”

Seonghwa groans as he sits down on the bed with his head burying into his hands. He could hear concern over the speaker as Yeosang begins to fret.

“Fuck you,” he complains, peeking out from behind his hands at his phone as if Yeosang is really in front of him. “You’re just— so fucking cute, you know that?” 

Shocked silence greets him as he finishes his sentence, but is broken quickly by a soft giggle.

“I could say the same for you. So what about that model?”

“I, uh, was wondering if you would want to fly over to model for me.”

The line falls quiet. Only the sound of a mug being picked up is heard as Seonghwa waits nervously and patiently for Yeosang to answer.

“Hwa, I’m—”

“I know, I know. It was a stupid idea, and I really shouldn’t have asked. I know you want a normal life out of the spotlight. You shouldn’t have stayed up only for me to ask this question.” Seonghwa rambles as he twists his fingers through his black bangs.

“Seonghwa.” Yeosang cuts him off, the harsh sound of a chair scratching against the floor punctuating his words. “I would never say no to you unless it’s something utterly, stupidly, insane.”

He clears his throat. “That being said, there is no way I could make it on time to do it.”

Seonghwa deflates. Yeosang is right, the time is too late for him to come, and even if he did make it on time, Yeosang would have to go through a crash course on how to walk properly on the runway. A spark of warmth lights in his chest though, as he realizes that Yeosang didn’t at all deny to walk on the runway, it was just impossible because of how far apart they were.

“How about you walk the outfit yourself?” Yeosang’s voice is still as comforting over the receiver. “If it’s possible, of course. It would be unique, never done before. Probably because most of the designers aren’t as good-looking as you are.”

Slightly flustered, Seonghwa turns the thought over in his mind, licking his lips as he considers the suggestion.

“I mean-”

“Seongie, you’re hot.” Yeosang cuts in, his tone holding a note of finality to it. “Let them see the hot genius behind those masterpieces.” 

“I’ll think about it,” Seonghwa manages. “I love you, angel. Now get some sleep.”

Yeosang grumbles deep in his throat, a complaint somewhere between the unintelligible noises, but continual pestering for him to sleep finally forces him to cave. Huffing, he tells Seonghwa to get on with the trip and hurry home before shyly whispering “I love you” and hanging up. Seonghwa keeps the phone up to his ear after Yeosang hangs up, hoping to capture the warmth of his husband’s breath against his ear.

A beeping cuts through the clear long note of silence sustaining in the room; the final alarm for his work. Seonghwa could only sigh as he pockets his phone, standing up and pulling on some presentable clothes before heading out the door with his laptop tucked under his arm.

The streets are packed, business people swarming in two opposing forms as they rush to work and call for taxis. Seonghwa manages to avoid the hostile crowds with just the ends of his trench coat being whipped around between legs and workcases. He dodges bicycles and smokers and risks his life crossing a busy street, getting yelled at by a driver as he zips past. Ducking under construction tarps and low hanging wires, he makes it to an emptier street corner to meet his ride. 

He takes a picture of himself while waiting in front of a store all decked out with Christmas decorations. Kneeling to capture his smiling, flushed face with a cute snowman holding up a small heart, he could just imagine how cute Yeosang would look with his mittens and big coat on the other side of the world. He would do anything to have his small husband by his side, puckering his lips at the snowman and catching snowflakes. A sharp honk captures his attention while he sends his picture to Yeosang and types a sweet message to follow along, the source being a black Lamborghini pulls up on the side of the street. The window rolls down slowly amongst a small flurry of snowflakes.

“Youngjo!” Seonghwa leans into the car with a mischievous smile as snow from his trench coat scatters onto the leather seat. “Woong asked and you couldn’t refuse huh?”

“Shut up, loser,” scowls the dark-haired man. “I don’t like your noisy secretary, just owed him a favor.”

“And I’m not walking the runway myself,” scoffs Seonghwa as he opens the passenger door and climbs in.

“You’re not,” Youngjo snarks as he turns around and pulls away from the side of the street.

Seonghwa only hums in response, adjusting his position and looking out the window.

“Wait.” The car jolts to a stop. “You mean  _ you’re  _ going to walk the runway? Don’t you have enough models already?”

“One quit yesterday and I wanted to call Sangie as a replacement—”

“So your husband suggested it?” The note on incredulity in Youngjo’s voice rises as he swerves past a biker. “He’s either insane or a genius. I don’t even know if that’s allowed.”

“He did his research,” concludes Seonghwa as he watches a child throw a handful of snow into the air. The smile on the little boy’s face only widened as it rains down on him as he sits in a pile of white.

The duo pulls up next to the venus, staff already visibly running about, speaking into walkie talkies with tablets in hand. Youngjo drives to the front of the building and stops by the curb, shifting the gear to park and climbing out of the car with Seonghwa.

“Mr. Park, Mr. Kim.” A lanky man dressed in a suit accompanied by a woman walks up to them and both dip their heads respectfully. “I’ll take your car and Mrs. Im will lead you upstairs.”

The women brings them into the building only to be cut off by an energetic ball of purple hurtling towards them before they could get to the stairs.

“Seonghwa!” The purple streak stops in front of him revealing his secretary. “Oh! And Ravn!”

“My name is not Ravn,” grumbles said man, “that’s my fucking brand name.”

Hwanwoong ignores the comment, or he didn’t bother hearing it at all, as he drags both taller men upstairs deeper into the studio.

“I asked Ravn here to pick you up because he’s the only competent person I’ve seen you interact with so far,” chatters Hwanwoong as they flit past staff hurrying down the hallway.

Seonghwa raises an eyebrow at his older friend as the other scowls while threateningly lifting his laptop case. Seonghwa cowers in fake fear and makes a face, which the older mirrors, but as soon as Hwanwoong turns around, they straighten their backs and morph their faces back into a cold stoicness. Youngjo clears his throat as Hwanwoong’s suspicious gaze sweeps over them, flashing an awkward smile before gesturing the shorter to lead the way.

Hwanwoong takes one last skeptical look at both designers and continues along his way, and as he turns around, Youngjo bats at Seonghwa’s arm before scurrying up to follow behind. Seonghwa checks for any staff around them and sighs in relief when he spies none, hurrying with a pout to catch up.

Led to the backstage area, Hwanwoong escorts Youngjo to his room while preparing to join Seonghwa to their room only to be waved off. Seonghwa gestures to the broad back of the tall designer, a teasing smile dancing on his face as he watches his bubbly secretary turn red and bow before running after Youngjo. Seonghwa’s smile softens as he watched the smaller shove himself next to the other and latching onto his arm, the look of adoration exchanged subtly between the both of them melting the blizzard outside. Seonghwa wonders if he and Yeosang looked like that.

The preparations goes by rather quickly with only a few staff asking more questions than needed. The windswept whiteness also died down a little outside by the time he was done, much to his disappointment, but it made it easier for him to bring the last piece back to his hotel for tweaking. After having a quick dinner with Woong and Youngjo (he ended up watching them make subtle goo-goo eyes at each other while trying to swallow down the welldone steak that he clearly wanted medium rare), he wearily called a taxi back to his hotel, lugging extra baggage on his back.

“Hey.” Immediately after going into his room, Seonghwa collapses onto a soft surface, grabbing a pillow to lean on as he sets the phone down on the table beside him.

“Hi babe,” a groggy voice responds. “How’d planning go today?”

“Pretty smooth if you didn’t count a staff asking what a catwalk was.”

“Oh my god,” the voice giggles and Seonghwa turns, grabbing blindly at his phone and turning it so that he could see mussed up toffee hair and blurry caramel eyes through the screen.

“Huh, thought I was going to be staring at the ceiling the whole time.” Seonghwa feels a small quirks of his lips after hearing his husband’s refreshing sarcasm after having dinner with a grossly oblivious couple. 

“You would’ve loved that wouldn’t you,” pouts Seonghwa dramatically. “My own husband, betraying me. I’m hurt.”

He clutches his heart and throws his head back in an attempt to look distressed. Yeosang only rolls his eyes with the beginnings of a smile on his face.

“You irritate me.”

“You love me.”

“Sadly.”

“I should be offended, but you did agree to be stuck with me for life, so I’ll live with it.” Seonghwa rolls over on his ottoman, facing the frosted window that mists slightly with the warmth of his breath. He watches as snowflakes dance in pairs between buildings, flitting from each other occasionally to tease the huddled birds and frozen branches. 

“So are Youngie and Woong together yet?” Yeosang leans against his arm on a pillow as he yawns, his hair falling into his eyes.

“Mr. ‘Ravn’,” Seonghwa puts in air quotes, “refused to admit that he has a giant soft spot for Woongie.”

Yeosang laughs out of his nose, burying his chin deeper into his pillow as sunlight peeks through the window that he never remembers to close. The shirt he was wearing slips off his shoulder slightly, exposing the smooth curve of skin and elegant collarbones that Seonghwa missed kissing.

“Flower, you look very pretty today,” the older comments as his windburned face flushes in the yellowed hotel lighting. 

Yeosang visibly gapes in embarrassment, this time shoving his entire face into the pillow with a whine, a loud “thuwmp” resounding as his hair flops into the camera. The normally stoic fashion designer only cooes as he watches the tips of his husband’s ears burn bright red.

“Even at thousands of miles away over shitty facetime cameras, your beauty never fails to surprise me,” continues Seonghwa with a swelling feeling of fondness rising in his chest. “Your smile makes my chest itch, and I should probably sue you for stealing away my heart.”

“Shut up,” Yeosang mumbles into the pillow, “it’s too early for this.”

“Normally I would continue on, but you have work in 15 minutes,” Seonghwa hums.

A muttered “fuck” is heard as Yeosang scrambles out of bed, his shirt hanging off his frame and exposing a lot more skin. Seonghwa swallows quietly as his intent gaze follows the younger stripping off his shirt and exposing his cute tummy and thick thighs, slightly toned by joining the dance club in high school and college. 

_ Gorgeous _ , Seonghwa thought as he licks his lips. In his distracted state, he barely notices when Yeosang picks up the phone again.

“You absolute pervert, don’t think I didn’t see you peeping when I was changing.” Yeosang taps at the screen as if to punish Seonghwa, but it only served to make the older more endeared. He laughs but his heart squeezes painfully at the thought that Yeosang was more than six thousand miles away. As if sensing Seonghwa’s sudden sadness, Yeosang’s eyes soften as he plants a light kiss on the screen. The phantom of the kiss touches briefly at his nose and his mouth splits wider into a teary smile.

Seonghwa kisses the screen himself and bids his tiny husband goodbye as the raucous presence of San was known as he burst through the bedroom door. San teases that he should stay in New York longer so he and Wooyoung could hang with their best friend longer instead of having to see Seonghwa’s face every time, to which the designer scowls back jokingly. He waves him off, pointing out that the both of them are going to be late if San keeps being a little shit. With a good natured middle finger and an ugly snort as a farewell, Seonghwa is left alone in a stuffy hotel room of artificial warmth.

The fashion designer stares at his reflection on the fingerprint-streaked screen of his phone for a while before picking himself up and bringing himself to the desk. The outfit is laid down in front of him, the mesh and jewelry already inducing a wave of tiredness to wash over him. He could only sigh as he sits down and prepares for a long night.

————————————

To say Yeosang didn’t miss his husband dearly was an understatement. He did push his husband to take the last minute trip to New York to show off the pieces he’s made, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel a hollowness when he wakes up every morning with only pillows and plushies next to him.

Early morning, Yeosang clambers out of bed, for once picking up his phone and turning off the alarm instead of smacking it until it shut up. He groggily stumbles to grab Seonghwa’s hoodie from the closet and makes his way to the kitchen, almost tripping over the carpet corner. Grabbing a mug from the top cabinet, the one with the angry bird eyebrows, he turns on the coffee maker and waits for the coffee to run. While the machine rumbles in the background, Yeosang scrambles to turn on the television, connecting a livestream to the big screen. 

“Mmm, should I call Seongie and wish him good luck?” Yeosang mumbles to himself as he watches the screen load into a timer, counting down the minutes and seconds until the show started. 

He dials the number, but it goes straight to voicemail. With a disappointed pout on his face, he hangs up and ends up texting a good luck instead. A long beep indicates the completion of his coffee, and Yeosang rushes to fill the cup and dumping spoonfuls of sugar and an excessive amount of cream. With his highly diluted coffee, he sits down, wrapped up in a hoodie that still fortunately smells like his husband and a thick furry blanket to cover his exposed legs.

The screen suddenly blinks bright as the timer counts down the last second and the set is exposed. Yeosang’s jaw gapes as he takes in the set of Seonghwa and Youngjo’s collaboration stage. It was gorgeous; a large ancient oak twists next to a winding catwalk with wispy grass and tall flowers lining the path. There’s a fairytale esque feel to the stage, fairy lights hanging from other smaller saplings along the runway. Spheres of light dangle from the ceiling on invisible string, glowing softly with different colors and creating a magical ambience along the white walls of the studio. Strings of light weave between the branches, some hanging down a moving around, as if they were fireflies. The catwalk is flanked by rows of modern white chairs, the people perched elegantly in high fashion, and Yeosang even recognizes some faces in the shadows. 

Ethereal notes began to play, twisting through the crowd and further immersing the mystical atmosphere and indicating the start of the show. Yeosang gathers the blanket pooling around him, pulling his knees up to his chest and slapping the couch impatiently. 

The appearance of the first model shocks him, a thin male strutting out from behind the tree. He was objectively attractive, thin nose and serious eyes set into a sculpted face, and the outfit he wore only accentuating his beauty. Another model follows after, a female this time. Her ebony skin glows as cameras begin flashing from the sidelines. A sheer cape flows from her shoulders as she struts down the catwalk with chunky, heeled boots, chiffon pants flowing along right after. She looks royal with her hairpiece fluttering as a wisp of a smile dances on her face.

As model after model drift gracefully onto the stage, each oozing with fantastical grace, Yeosang feels a burst of pride in his chest. Seonghwa  _ did that _ . There aren’t many words that could describe his immense pride in Seonghwa, from watching him work himself deep into the night with uncharacteristically bitter coffee to a decked out stage and a large company he built up brick by brick. He himself spent nights watching Seonghwa from the doorway, the fluorescent lamp illuminating the tears that drop in frustration, and he knew Seonghwa wouldn’t have wanted him to see the soaked papers and swollen eyes, but sometimes he quietly walks into the study and wraps himself around his then-friend in a comforting hug.

The long line of models are eventually coming to an end, the lights having changed through a myriad of colors, creating a softened neon backdrop that hypnotized Yeosang. The winter sun makes its way out from between the clouds, it being a late riser as Yeosang himself. It seems to blink at Yeosang questioningly, wondering why he is awake, or out of bed even, but Yeosang disregards the cold rays due to his disappointment that Seonghwa hadn’t appeared on stage.

_ He must’ve found another model _ , thought Yeosang with a little twinge of jealousy. It didn’t matter much though, because all of the outfits were downright gorgeous, and Yeosang couldn’t imagine the hours Seonghwa and Youngjo had put into it so that their styles could compliment each other perfectly. 

An abrupt cut of the lights drops Yeosang out of his thoughts and shifts his attention back to the screen. The lights turn up their intensity to a blinding brightness and smoke machines that weren’t present before spews out a thin mist. The tinkling notes from before breaks into a crescendo as the last model in line steps away from the runway. A figure makes an appearance through the smoke, his boots the focus of the camera before panning upwards. The crowd seems to hold their breath as the final model steps on stage, the camera shutters stopping. As soon as the face of the model is revealed the sound of cameras explodes and Yeosang had to muffle his inhuman scream into a pillow.

Seonghwa’s face holds a warm tint as he struts down the catwalk. A thin chain of dark silver gingerly lies over his nose, glinting in the bright lights while gems drip from the ear cuffs connecting the chain. The smokey red eyeshadow around his eyes illuminates the glinting emerald gaze that exude utter confidence. A crown of wine-colored thorns nestles in the black undercut he had, this time messily swept back with only a few stray hairs streaking his forehead. 

Yeosang forces his jaw closed as he inspects the outfit Seonghwa fits perfectly into: a pure white suit with pearls embedded into embroidered golden flowers that flourishes along the lapel, the deep enough v showcasing the public much more than Yeosang would’ve liked. Dainty jewelry laces across Seonghwa’s graceful neck, dipping into the golden glitter that scatters like stars across his chest. What a prince he would make if he wasn’t stuck in modern society.

Yeosang fixes his starry eyes on his husband as he walks down confidently, trained, not at all like the clumsy dork that Yeosang knows. The music cuts out as Seonghwa reaches the end of the runway, along with the lights that throws the entire show into darkness. Yeosang leans out of his seat, confusion etching into his eyebrows and his blanket falling to the ground as he picks up his remote. Beats of silence continues as Yeosang stares, wondering if the connection was off, but a sudden loud clash of cymbals breaks the silence and he jolts, barely catching the remote that falls out of his fingers. The lights snap back on and the studio is suddenly bathed in a deep maroon, the smoke thick and swirling. This time the remote clatters onto the floor.

An obvious smirk on his face, Seonghwa stands amidst the dispersing smoke with his chin tilted upwards as he poses for the cameras. His suit jacket had been thrown over his shoulder and in its original place sat a completely see through black mesh top with intricate black gems decorating the complicated epaulettes on his shoulders. The chain of silver flashes along with the fast moving cameras as Seonghwa tilts his head up so he was looking down from his nose. It was like an angel and devil had clashed and created an ethereal being. The cameras didn’t stop flashing even as Seonghwa pivots and walks off stage, with the livestream ending.

Yeosang finds himself on the floor when the screen turns black.  _ Jesus fuck _ , is the only thought remaining in his mind because of all things he didn’t expect Seonghwa to want him to wear  _ that _ . When Seonghwa comes back he’s going to get it. 

But which “it” he's going to get, Yeosang is deciding later.

————————————

As soon as Seonghwa steps down from the runway he is tackled by his secretary with his collaborator following close behind.

“You totally decided to switch outfits with another model so that you could destroy Yeosang huh,” Youngjo bluntly comments off to the side with his hands stuck casually in his pocket.

Seonghwa attempts to retort hotly back but is cut off by the words that spill out of Hwanwoong’s mouth at inhuman speed. The strong arms of his small secretary holds him in place and squeezes the air out of him as he tries to break free. Struggling to peel Hwanwoong off of him, Seonghwa grimaces at the older, who takes pity on him and drags Hwanwoong back to his side. 

“You looked amazing up there Seonghwa! Like the outfit and the walk and the smokes and the light made you look like a fairy prince and like— woosh! Suddenly the devil is standing there with the eye makeup and smirk and the green eyes like oh lord can you believe—” 

Even as he is held tightly by the back of his collar, Hwanwoong gesticulates wildly with shining eyes as he blabbers on about how great his boss looked. Seonghwa holds back the urge to roll his eyes fondly and stop him, but seeing Youngjo’s face as he watches Hwanwoong talk stops him.

“Alright big guy, that’s enough pestering Mister Model, he has a plane to catch.” A soft note creeps into the sweeping winter of the older’s voice.

“What?” Hwanwoong’s mouth finally stops as he hangs limply from Youngjo’s hand and gapes between the two taller designers. “I thought we were leaving after New Year’s?”

“ _ We _ are,” responds Youngjo, his eyes throwing a nonchalant glance at Seonghwa. “He wanted to go back earlier to celebrate.”

“Ah,” Hwanwoong says, nodding in understanding. “Yeosang.”

Seonghwa couldn’t help but flush at his two co-workers, signaling them to shut up as they turn to him with matching shit-eating grins. He lets out an angered grumble but shuts his mouth as some assistants come up and takes his jacket from him. Youngjo leaves him with a barely concealed tease masked behind a request for a celebration dinner as he is called away by his own secretary.

“Never thought you as a romantic,” smirks Hwanwoong as he sidles up next to Seonghwa. 

Seonghwa delicately takes off the thin chain and ear cuffs, handing them off to a passing staff with a nod before he plants his foot straight on Hwanwoong’s own. Yelping, the other jumps up and instinctively kicks out his leg, knocking over a chair in the process. He turns on Seonghwa, hissing with narrowed eyes as he advances on the older. Seonghwa barks out a laugh as he quickly escapes to his waiting room and slams the door. His clothes practically evaporate from his body as soon as he flies in and he packs his bags with lightning speed, checking the time while at it. Hwanwoong comes in right as he finishes stuffing the last of his files into his bag, proceeding to kick his shin in revenge. Turning with a vengeful stare, Seonghwa takes in the amount of staff currently in the room and straightens himself, looping an arm around Hwanwoong’s shoulders and digging his fingers into the skin as he leads them to the car.

He ends up having dinner with the company staff and models, dragged by a whining Hwanwoong into the restaurant as he does his best to break free. Here he is now, eating as elegantly as he does quickly, hoping to finish up and get on the plane as soon as possible. He deflects questions as he chews, his eyes darting to a clock that is conveniently hung right on the wall in front of him. 

“Seonghwa?” A wet breath smacks hotly into his ear. “Want me to distract them while you make a run for it?”

Seonghwa hums as if he were contemplating the suggestion, but invisible, vigorous nods forces a breath of amusement from his companion as he puts an arm around Seonghwa. Youngjo leans over to Seonghwa’s other side, whispering to his own secretary, Geonhak (he thinks), and the other nods while setting down his utensils with a clink. The next move is completely unexpected as he stands straight-faced and challenges Hwanwoong to a dance battle with a flat voice. Hwanwoong immediately jumps to the challenge, stripping off his suit jacket and pushing his chair back with a resounding screech that rings throughout the restaurant. 

“You’re fucking  _ on _ .”

Youngjo taps Seonghwa’s chin and snaps him out of his apparent open-mouthed shock.  _ Get going,  _ the other gestures almost impatiently, and Seonghwa stares for a second too long as he is pushed out of his chair and towards the door. Letting his lips quirk up gratefully, he sends a small wave to his friend as he snatches his jacket and plunges into the snowy darkness of the city. 

Fortunately for him, the restaurant they ate in happened to be rather close to his hotel, so instead of hailing a taxi, he stuck his hands in his pockets and powers through the cold. A puff of breath leads the way as he meanders through the late night crowd. The streets are still as active as ever, teens and adults alike wandering the streets and laughing with their friends, their words mingling in a cloud of white amongst the blackened sky. Not a single star can be seen when Seonghwa looks up, instead flashing in their place was the large LED screens and muted street lights along with cars streaking white through the flecks of snow. He thinks about what the streets might look like back at home, what the neon lights might look reflecting in Yeosang’s eyes. 

The golden glow of the hotel interior welcomes him along with a blast of warm air as his boots touch the glossy marble floor. The receptionists bow out of courtesy while bellboys leaning against their carts stand and smile almost abruptly. He sends them a brief smile of dismissal and winces at the squeak his shoes make as he turns to the elevators. The ride is silent, with only Seonghwa and a woman and child standing in the elevator, bathing in the soft music and whirring metal. The two adults didn’t smile at each other, didn’t even look at each other, but the child peers curiously at the dark-haired man. 

“Why are you alone?” The child pipes up with a high-pitched voice reminiscent of Wooyoung’s, and Seonghwa’s lips curve slightly at the silencing hiss of the mother, who glances up at him apologetically.

“I have work, little one,” he responds softly in well-practiced English as he kneels down to face the child. The hardened lines of the mother’s face melts away as she watches them speak.

“Mommy and Daddy both have work, but they’re never alone,” the child continues innocently. “Plus it’s Christmas! It’s for rests, you know. I’m going to ask Santa Claus to bring you someone that you can be like Mommy and Daddy with.”

“That’s really sweet of you.” Seonghwa’s cheeks feels warm under the dim elevator lights. “But I’ve got someone waiting for me at home, so keep that wish to make Mommy and Daddy and yourself happy, yeah?”

The elevator stops with a ding and Seonghwa murmurs a goodbye along with a “Merry Christmas” as he steps out into the hallway, the child waves at him while the mother smiles and returns the greeting.

He turns into the too-warm hallway and laughs a little to himself while twisting the jewelry on his ring finger. He’ll be home soon.

————————————

The flight back was terrible. 

Although Seonghwa had no problem getting a comfortable enough business seat, he still somehow got to sit in a compartment with a  _ baby _ . He wishes that the baby could’ve been one of those cute ones in those Youtube videos he adored watching (and Yeosang despised him copying), but this particular baby made sure that he would not be able to even close his eyes and enjoy some silence. The moment the child started bawling along with lurching turbulence, Seonghwa twists his earphones in deeper than they should be able to go and blasts some Beethoven; he made do with it.

They finally touch down at the airport after a flight too long, and Seonghwa breathes a sigh of relief. No more crying baby and finally Yeosang. He squishes in the line trying to get off the full aircraft and rushes as fast he can to customs with his composure forgotten and his suitcase clicking closely behind. From the corner of his eye, a group of teenagers seem to recognize him as they gasp and whisper among themselves, some even pulling out their phones. Other than that, nobody else seems to acknowledge him with his black face mask on and casual clothes, except maybe some airport staff whose eyes widen before dialing back to professional.

He calls his driver to pick him up, not wanting to risk any of his friends spilling his surprise return to Yeosang. (If he told anyone, he knew San and Wooyoung would’ve found some way to find out and somehow blurt it out to his husband, and he wasn’t taking that risk with Yunho or Mingi either.) A sleek black car pulls up mere moments after he heads outside and Seonghwa exchanges greetings with his longtime driver before they take the road. 

Junghee is nice enough to listen to the incessant tapping of Seonghwa’s feet against the floor without commenting on it as they zip down the highway. Seonghwa plays with his fingers, then shoved them into his pocket and fiddling with his house keys, and then finally settling with scrolling through his phone just to occupy his hands.

“Cake?” Junghee suggests over the catchy pop song playing over the radio. Some form of wordless conversation pass between them and Seonghwa nods. Yeosang loves cake. They pull up to a small, hole-in-the-wall bakery with little printed cat stickers pasted on the door. Pots with flowers stood against the gray wall like multicolored stars, fitting the modern yet homey aesthetic it seems to be going for.

Seonghwa walks into the store and the bell above the door jingles pleasantly. A bored looking barista along with a peppy cashier was behind the counter, the latter bouncing up and down as he animatedly describes something to his apathetic coworker. The other straightens when she makes eye contact with Seonghwa, putting on a customer service smile that looks more like a grimace than anything, but her voice is cheery as she greets him.

“Hi! How may I help you?” 

“A chocolate cake please,” Seonghwa says while pointing at a cake in the display.

The energetic employee squeals as Seonghwa finishes his sentence, jumping up and down and almost slipping on a wet spot. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! Is it the romantic, love-heart, chocolate cake?! I  _ love _ that cake, it’s perfect for dates, confessions, birthdays, baby showers, and—”

“Right, that’ll be—” the girl tries to cut in with an impatient twitch to her eyebrow.

“Is it for a lover? Wife? Maybe it’s for a kid, do you think it’s for a kid, Hyejin?” The boy’s eyes are glittering at this point, his hands clasping over his heart as he looks at the girl imploringly. The girl had a tomato red face and looks like she is seconds away from bursting into flames.

“Here you go,” Seonghwa interrupts, fishing out a card from his wallet. He couldn’t let the girl suffer.

“Thank you,” she sighs as she quickly hands the card to her coworker and rushes off to the back.

The boy pouts a little, but dutifully rings Seonghwa up. He hands Seonghwa the receipt and his card back and was about to turn around when Seonghwa pipes up.

“It’s for my husband, actually.” He pockets his wallet without looking up. “Since you wanted to know and all.”

A sharp intake of breath emanates through the rather empty cafe and Seonghwa looks up because, frankly, he is concerned for the amount of air the guy spat out when he speaks, but he is met with shining eyes and a blinding smile.

“That’s so adorable,” he swoons, leaning over the counter and into Seonghwa’s personal space. “Bet he’s cute, you have a picture?”

This is a chance Seonghwa is unwilling to pass up, so he whips out his phone and pulls up a recent photo of Yeosang he saved. This was his favorite, the second being the next most recent Yeosang sent him, which happened to also be his favorite previously.

The cashier all but screeched and immediately bombarded Seonghwa with questions he gladly answers. Their conversation only quieted when the barista comes back with a cake box. She nods and thanks Seonghwa, her lips curling up slightly at the picture of Yeosang sandwiched between two squealing men before wishing him good luck and sending him away with a genuine smile and wave. 

Leaving with a warmer chest and cake box in hand, he listens to the doorbell jingle merrily as bickering once again starts behind him. Junghee stares at him when he climbs into the car and starts the engine without looking away.

“Something good happen?” Curiosity seeps into his voice as he has never seen Seonghwa smile so widely in public unless he was with Yeosang. 

“Nah,” Seonghwa responds with a smile still splitting his face as he tucks away his face mask. “Just some overbearing cashiers and tired baristas.”

Junghee doesn’t pry more and just grins at Seonghwa knowingly before shifting gears and driving off.

It’s still early morning when they arrive at the house, and as expected, a window is left open on the second floor. He climbs out of the car and waves to Junghee, handing his friend a cookie that he snagged for free from the cashier. Junghee laughs and winks at him, gesturing for him to hurry up before the last of the sun’s rays touches the tops of the trees and drives off with the sunrise chasing after his heels.

Seonghwa lets himself have a second in the sun, between the birds chirping their morning song and the old man who happens to wake up early every morning for his daily jog. It’s almost unrealistic how he got to this point in his life, the amount of luck he has to be here, standing in his front yard with the winter sun beaming down on him and the love of his life sleeping peacefully on the bed upstairs. He walks in before the frozen dewdrops glisten on his lawn.

The house is quiet, as expected, and new flowers seem to decorate their living space, teeming from vases and random places on their bookshelves and coffee table. Seonghwa smiles and sets the cake down on the counter, drawing out the chocolate cake and placing it delicately upon a tray along with forks and plates, and several more napkins just in case.

The cake itself is simple, a heart-shaped chocolate delight, and Seonghwa laughs at the “I’m home” crudely drawn on along with last-minute hearts that accompanies it. He would definitely have to bring Yeosang with him back to that cafe one day. 

Last thoughts fading into the darkness of the halls, Seonghwa focuses on stepping lightly to the bedroom, taking care to move past the creaking floorboards that he’d grown accustomed to. Creaking open the door, he peers in gently, cradling the tray almost to his chest and taking in the absolute disastrous way Yeosang is sprawled on top of their covers. Adoration joins the sunlight in warming the room as he watches his husband curled up with a plushie under his chin, snapping a quick picture just to tease Yeosang about it later (and brag to cashier boy, but that didn’t matter quite as much).

“Sangie, wake up.” He sets down the tray and shakes the other’s shoulder, whispering quietly into his ear. “Sunshine, I got you cake.”

Finally Yeosang cracks open his eyes, arms stretching instinctively as he groans sleepily. He tilts his head a little and makes eye contact with Seonghwa, and then his eyes snap open.

“S-Seonghwa?!” He sits up and his voice raised three pitches higher.

“Hi Angel,” Seonghwa smiles, “I got some cake.”

Yeosang all but lunges towards his husband, wrapping his arms tightly around Seonghwa’s neck and buries his face into the crook. 

“You’re back.”

Ignoring the tears threatening the corners of his eyes, Seonghwa reciprocates the hug, bringing Yeosang’s face up and sweeping away the tears flowering along his eyes.

“I’m home.”

**Author's Note:**

> please be my friend @bloominghwas


End file.
